


Given Charge

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Fantasizing, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Living Together, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Teasing, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: They're alone in their private little space. There's a bed, a belt, and a promise. Jaskier can do whatever he wants, and Geralt will try not to break the belt to do whateverhewants. It's not often Geralt decides to humor Jaskier's little quests for power, but there's never been a time he was disappointed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 402





	Given Charge

**Author's Note:**

> Asked a friend for a geraskier idea and this is what popped out. I have nothing to say. I do not take responsibility for the consequences of my actions. you're on your own.
> 
> comments and kudos super appreciated. I may be starting on a chaptered geraskier fic soon. Not sure.

A little place. A little refuge. Someplace out in the middle of the forest was a little shack that they could call their own. It had all of the necessities—a few storage chests, some comfortable seats, a fire on which to cook, and a bed. A perfectly sized bed. Plush enough. Large enough. Made of just the right material with just enough slats in the headboard to wrench a belt between them and have Geralt perfectly restrained to the bed. His hair was down, still wet from his bath, and all he wore was the thin, ratty towel still around his hips.

Jaskier, in contrast, was still fully clothed in his tantalizingly annoying, stuffy clothes. He usually left his shirts open right down to his chest, but this time, he was done up like a proper boy should be. All for the show. All for the things he had in store, oh, Jaskier had _asked_ for this. Geralt, never truly wanting to disappoint, and shrugged and said _show me what you have in mind_. And Jaskier intended to do just that. From his perch on Geralt’s hips where, as he secured the belt a little tighter than he needed to, he rolled his hips and ground the curve of his arse into Geralt’s cock.

Geralt wasn’t hard, but oh, he was _interested_. He wouldn’t show it on his face in more than just the subtle bite of his bottom lip, but he was interested. He paid attention to every move, every swipe of Jaskier’s fingers, every lick of his tongue over his reddening lips. Jaskier had bathed first, and he was dry now. Dressed. Perfectly put back together as a visage of everything Geralt couldn’t take apart. His hands were tied. He was bound to the bed, and while not entirely helpless, he let himself lay there to watch the show as it began.

Jaskier pulled back, dragging his hands down Geralt’s bare chest as he did, until he was sitting straight, back slightly arched. He was taking his sweet, stupid time. This was the only time Geralt had ever known Jaskier to be _patient_ —when he was running the show. A performance. Jaskier took his performances very seriously, and this was no different, even if he never quite looked his audience in the eye like that. A special little glint, a work of his hips. Geralt thought himself strong enough to hold on a little longer, but already, his cock was stirring.

“How long do I have to wait?” Geralt gruffed.

“Patience,” Jaskier cooed. “Keep quiet.”

He started on the laces of his shirt, keeping his eyes on Geralt as he tugged at each one. Trailing down. Slower, slower still. The middle of his shirt opened not to reveal the expanse of his chest, but an undershirt. Geralt could have groaned in frustration, but Jaskier didn’t stop there. He might have, otherwise, but his urgency was worn well on his face. His hips were rocking with every movement. Jaskier could pretend like he had some control, but in reality, he had none. He wanted this as bad as Geralt did, even if he wanted to pretend otherwise.

The shirt slipped down Jaskier’s shoulders, down his arms, just as slowly as everything else had been. Once it was off, Jaskier threw it haphazardly off to the side, where it landed on the floor. Geralt might have seen him start to the bindings of his undershirt or the lacing of his trousers, but Jaskier surprised him by leaning over, sliding his way up Geralt’s chest, and cupping his jaw. Jaskier kissed him, sweetly, but with tongue pressed right up against the seam of his lips. Geralt kissed back. Eagerly accepted what Jaskier had to give.

Jaskier groaned into their kiss, his hips bucking, rutting down over Geralt’s cock like he was trying to get himself off before he’d even complete disrobed. There was still that pesky towel between them, other than Jaskier’s clothes, but it would be gone soon enough with the way Jaskier was desperately moving on top of him. Geralt might have tried to brace his heels into the bed so he could meet every desperate little twitch of Jaskier’s hips against him, but Jaskier wanted him _still_. He’d stay still. For now.

When Jaskier pulled back, there was a drip of saliva down his chin that Geralt desperately wanted to wipe away, bring Jaskier back down for another searing kiss. The alternative was just as good, when Jaskier got started on the laces of his undershirt. This one, he did away with quickly. He was losing patience, and it showed in the rushed movements of his fingers. Already, Geralt could see the swell of his cock through his trousers and wondered just how bad of a strain it was. Poor Jaskier. If only he’d give in, Geralt would press him down into the mattress and give him what he _needed_.

Instead, he waited. He watched. Every hurried, tantalizing brush of Jaskier’s fingers, until he was shedding his undershirt. He was flushed all the way down to his chest, where his nipples were suddenly perked with the brush of colder air. Jaskier didn’t dive back down for a kiss, this time, and instead got straight to work on his trousers. He’d have to get up for this, and the sudden loss of pressure against his prick had him groaning. Hips bucked into his own hands, oh, he was a desperate little thing.

Geralt couldn’t stop his shift, his growing interest. The towel did a poor job of leaving him to the imagination, when Jaskier pushed up to his knees. Geralt was aroused, painfully so. Watching Jaskier move in that little way that he did always _did_ something to Geralt. It was embarrassing, really—he should have had better control, but it was hard to think when he had Jaskier in his lap, like this. He knew exactly where it would go, when Jaskier finally finished with his teasing, stupid games.

Jaskier’s trousers hit the floor next. Then his smalls. And he was naked in Geralt’s lap, his slightly tanned skin out on display for Geralt to look over. He couldn’t touch, but he could _imagine_ touching, having his hands on Jaskier. He’d start at the curve of his neck, where Jaskier always seemed the most sensitive. He’d slid down the length of his chest, cupping the slightest outline of pectoral while thumbing over Jaskier’s nipples. Oh, he’d gasp those pretty, breathy noises, and Geralt would just continue down his sides, pressing into every little divot and crease.

Jaskier would have none of that with Geralt’s hands bound to the bed, but that was just how Jaskier wanted it. It was _his_ turn to tease. His turn to be a menace. He started with a slow roll of his hips, circling back down over Geralt’s cock and ensuring that he pressed himself down just right that Geralt could no doubt feel the curve of his arse. Jaskier rutted against him, making no subtle display of his own prick pressed right into Geralt’s stomach. Each pass had Jaskier shivering, gripping onto Geralt’s sides for balance.

“How does it feel?” Jaskier asked, already breathless.

“Like you need to get a move on,” came Geralt’s rough reply.

Jaskier gave a helpless laugh, running his hands up Geralt’s abdomen to palm over his chest, instead. “Patience, Geralt, patience. _Patience_ ,” he whispered, working his hips down just right. He finally earned a groan, deep from Geralt’s throat, at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

There was no mistaking that _need._ That want. That desire. Jaskier couldn’t get rid of that towel fast enough. He shifted so he could sit on Geralt’s thighs, instead, pressing their cocks together within the confines of his hand. His hand was barely large enough to fit around the both of them, but he managed. He rolled his hips. Slowly. He stroked the length of their cocks in the same rhythm, bracing himself on Geralt’s hip as he worked. Geralt groaned in response, his own hips now struggling to be able to move.

He wanted to fuck into that warm, slick heat. It was only Jaskier’s hand, their pricks pressed together with the slick help of precum, but it was the most Geralt had gotten since this had begun. He wanted more. Jaskier knew just where to squeeze, right beneath the head of Geralt’s cock. Knew just where to stroke, how long to linger, where his fingers should go. He was disgustingly practiced, but with that came that surge of pride. Geralt _knew_ why Jaskier was so good at this, and it was precisely for how many times he’d wrestled Jaskier down into the bed and _took_ him.

Geralt’s hips bucked, and Jaskier let out a breathy laugh in response. He wouldn’t dare make a comment on Geralt’s eagerness, not when his own hips were working. It took every ounce of energy Jaskier still had to keep himself steady, to keep the pace going. He was quickly losing focus, overwhelmed by the sight before him. The pleasure from it in heavy jolts right up his spine, making him tremble. Jaskier’s eyes closed tight and his back arched—if he wasn’t careful, he would come like this.

It was in that moment that Geralt even considered breaking the belt that kept him down. The beautiful curve of Jaskier’s back—how he wanted to run his hands down Jaskier’s spine, press his face into the pillows and sink inside of him so _slowly_ that it might nearly hurt. Jaskier always loved that. Loved the burn it gave him if they skimped out on some of the _work_. He was always left with a stupid little grin, eyes closed, and brows up high. That wouldn’t happen, this time, if Geralt could control himself.

Jaskier wanted to do this. If Geralt ruined that, he could count the fifteen different ways Jaskier would make him regret it. It ranged from being horribly upset to a rage he didn’t think Jaskier may have possessed. Still, it kept him as still as he could be, left only with his hips able to rut up and meet Jaskier’s little rotations. It was a desperate, begging thing just rocking together the way that they were, Jaskier’s hand working them both. There was precum dripping down to ease the stroke of not only his hand, but as their cocks brushed and bumped together.

Just before that pleasure could mount and bring them both over the edge, embarrassingly fast, Jaskier stopped. He leaned over so he could reach for their nightstand, their chests brushing together in the process in such a way that Jaskier _keened_ at the touch on his nipple. He was holding on by a thread, and Geralt was _impressed_. Putting on such a performance, keeping himself held together so well. If Geralt could, he might have leaned up and kissed Jaskier square on his lips until he was moaning and coming over himself like a needy virgin.

Instead, he waited. He watched. He tried to ignore the twitch of his cock as Jaskier straightened back up with a vial of oil in his hands. He certainly hadn’t untied Geralt, which meant he intended to do this on his _own_. Geralt had to gulp—just the image of Jaskier finding pleasure on his own fingers was enough to have Geralt sweating.

“You’re going to make me watch?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier looked at him, said nothing, and went back to his work. He dribbled out the oil over his fingers and _showed_ Geralt exactly what he intended to do. No words, because Jaskier knew if he spoke his voice would come out breathless and helpless. Jaskier turned around. He turned his back to Geralt making sure to sit back just right that Geralt’s cock nestled right up in the cleft of his arse, and that lasted for just a _moment_. Just long enough to remind Geralt just what he was going to have as soon as _preparations_ were made.

With one hand, Jaskier held himself open, parted his cheeks so Geralt would be able to see _everything_ as a few drops of excess oil dripped down from Jaskier’s fingers and onto his skin. Geralt couldn’t help but watch each drop roll down over Jaskier’s quivering little hole. Then, Jaskier’s fingers followed, spreading oil between his cheeks and circling around his hole, massaging into it. He gasped and leaned forward—had to catch himself on Geralt’s thigh to keep from losing balance, entirely.

Geralt was more than _happy_ to be what kept Jaskier grounded, especially if it meant having a proper show for it. Jaskier shuddered through two more swipes of his fingers before he finally leaned forward just a touch. He wanted to ensure Geralt could watch the first sink of his finger—Geralt sucked in a deep breath at the sight of it. Jaskier pressed his index finger in, first, slowly. He didn’t want to do too much or more than he could handle. The slowness was also just another way to tease. He could feel Geralt’s cock twitch against the curve of his arse.

Jaskier tried to keep the focus on himself, not on Geralt. He gripped his hand a little harder into the meat of Geralt’s thigh and focused on the _feeling_. He closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was Geralt’s finger sinking into him. That slow, burning pressure washed up the deeper Jaskier pressed. He gave himself a moment to adjust, never quite willing to push himself as hard as he was willing to let Geralt push him. He knew he needed to get moving—the threat of Geralt losing interest was entirely self-imagined, but impressive all the same.

When Jaskier started to move, Geralt groaned. This was the perfect place to watch. He could see every flutter of Jaskier’s hole, every inch of his finger that disappeared inside of him. Pulled back. Pushed inside, again. Jaskier treated himself like a prince, and it was almost laughable. If Geralt wanted to destroy this moment, he could push Jaskier down to the bed and shove two of his fingers right up inside him, make him cry out into the mattress with the sudden sting of pleasure.

He wouldn’t. This was its own breed of enjoyable. The anticipation was building. Just knowing that all of this was so close but so far had Geralt’s mind spiraling, wandering to all of the possibilities. That was enough to keep him interested, to have his hips moving up of their own accord as Jaskier worked a second finger inside of himself. Jaskier moaned so prettily at the intrusion—so desperate to have what he wanted but stuck on the knowledge that this was necessary.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier gasped out, working himself open on those two fingers. “Oh— _fuck_ , Geralt—”

Geralt didn’t have to see his face to know what he looked like. Jaskier’s eyes were closed tightly, his jaw dropped open as he muttered out his breathless pleas and praises. His brows were arched as the pleasure racked through his body, keeping him on edge. His toes were curled, his fingers digging into Geralt’s thigh. Jaskier was living for this, hanging onto every moment as he worked himself back onto his fingers. He stretched them apart, shifting—Geralt could _see_ the as Jaskier opened himself, the gape left between his fingers as he scissored them apart.

From the way he was gasping, Geralt could only imagine what was going on in Jaskier’s imaginative little head. Maybe Geralt had him pressed against the wall with his fingers working inside of him, or maybe Geralt was doing just as he was: lying flat on the bed, but he had Jaskier up around his chest with hot breath and a promise over the tip of his cock as he worked Jaskier open. Whatever fun little scenario was playing out in his head, Geralt knew one thing— _he_ was the one working Jaskier open. In his mind.

“Does that feel good?” Geralt growled. Jaskier gave a little pathetic nod in return, whimpering as he pulled back work more oil between his cheeks. “No—no, I want to _hear_ you,” Geralt pressed.

“It’s good,” Jaskier gasped. “It feels—it’s _amazing_ , Geralt, oh—” his breath hitched as he crooked his fingers. He brushed right over his prostate, and it sent a renewed jolt of pleasure up through his spine. He trembled, gasping like he was about to come if he didn’t control himself.

“I know just what you like, don’t I?” Geralt continued.

Jaskier nodded, hurriedly. “Yes, yes—”

“You can take another,” he commanded.

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and nodded. Geralt _knew_ that Jaskier liked to go easy on himself, but he knew just as well how Jaskier fell apart under that little bit of strain. He had plenty of oil to work that third finger inside of himself, and he did. The stretch of it had his back arching, his head thrown back as he cried out. His hips moved on their own, and it was such a _beautiful_ sight—to watch Jaskier pleasure himself, like that. Geralt bucked his hips for good measure, rutting his cock into that finely plumped arse.

“Keep going,” Geralt pressed. “You’ll never be ready for my cock if you don’t push yourself.”

Jaskier shuddered at the commanding sound of Geralt’s voice. The deep rumble of it. Jaskier was helpless but to do what Geralt asked of him. He pushed himself. He spread his fingers wide and worked them as deep as he could. He rubbed over his inner walls, finding pleasure in just the smallest movements, the slightest twitches. His hips kept rolling back, trying to find _more_. But there was only so much that he could find on his own fingers. He needed Geralt’s cock

Jaskier made sure he was ready. If he’d wanted to, he might have fit a fourth finger inside of himself, but he was losing patience, quickly. He couldn’t see Geralt, but he could feel the incessant press of his hard cock into the swell of his arse. He could hear the breathlessness in his words, the gasping growls and the sharp intakes of breath. Geralt was _desperate_ to be inside of him, and Jaskier couldn’t help but take some pride in that. He’d done a good job showing off, and that had been his plan. They both deserved something for all this time.

Jaskier didn’t even bother turning around to slick Geralt’s cock in oil. He just reached behind him and stroked the oil down Geralt’s shaft, listening to every groan that pulled from his throat at the pass of Jaskier’s hand.

“Hurry _up_ , Jaskier,” Geralt gruffed, rolling his hips to meet Jaskier’s hand.

“I should make you say please,” Jaskier replied, breathless.

“ _Please_ ,” Geralt rasped.

Jaskier’s entire body was taken with a tremble at the _sound_ of Geralt’s plea. Jaskier wouldn’t make either of them wait a moment longer, not with that still ringing in his ear. He reached behind him, taking a firm grip at the base of Geralt’s cock, and used his other hand to pull his cheeks apart. He hovered over Geralt’s cock for just a moment, rubbing the head through the cleft of his arse for that one last rush of pleasure. Each swipe had Geralt’s cockhead catching on his stretched hole, and it was almost too much to deal with.

Geralt had some last, lingering thread of control. He rolled his hips up, coaxing Jaskier onward. Just a gentle suggestion, a _hint—_ one that Jaskier took. He sat back over Geralt’s cock, sinking down over it. He spread himself open for every, tapered inch, gasping and moaning as he sunk deeper and deeper. He didn’t stop until he was seated in Geralt’s lap, bracing himself on Geralt’s legs to keep himself steady. The burn of pleasure went straight to his cock; Jaskier was leaking, making a mess on the space of bed between Geralt’s spread thighs.

Only a moment passed before Geralt bucked his hips and listened to the sharp cry Jaskier gave. That was just the type of singing that Geralt loved to hear—it was addicting, listening to Jaskier moan and cry out because he was seated firmly on Geralt’s cock. If he really wanted something different, all Jaskier had to do was pull away and do something different. But he didn’t. He could protest all he wanted, but he was desperate to be split out on Geralt’s cock with each, desperate rut of his hips.

“G-Geralt! Geralt, please—” Jaskier gasped, only haphazardly trying to get him to stop.

“If you want me to stop, then I better get something in return.” Geralt wanted out of these bonds. He wanted to push himself up and take Jaskier on his hands and knees like he deserved. “Fuck yourself, Jaskier. Show me how fucking desperate you are to take a cock.”

Jaskier trembled, digging his fingers into Geralt’s skin—but he did just as he was asked. As Geralt _demanded_. Jaskier started to rock himself back, rolling his hips down onto Geralt’s cock. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to find his rhythm, using his knees as support to start to bounce. Geralt groaned in his appreciation, very drag of Jaskier’s tight walls around him sending him to new heights of pleasure. Jaskier clenched down. He groaned each time he bottomed out, feeling Geralt reached the deepest parts of him.

He was spread open, split and impaled on the thick of Geralt’s cock, and it was _everything_. He bounced quickly, trying to find and take his pleasure. He was desperate for it. Keening and crying out as Geralt’s cockhead managed over his prostate each time he sunk back down. He could feel the slick between them, the twitch of Geralt’s cock inside of him. Beneath his hands, Geralt’s thighs tightened with his own rush of pleasure, through the effort it took for him to roll his hips and meet every one of Jaskier’s desperate little movements.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt groaned. “Tight little shit, aren’t you? Like a fucking desperate little whore—” he broke off on a groan. His talk only proved to egg Jaskier on, to make him move faster, clench down just a bit _harder_.

Geralt wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with Jaskier pressing down around him, keeping everything _tight_ and hot—the oil slicked their movement. Jaskier moved quickly, rolling his hips in little circles each time he bottomed out, crying out with moans each time Geralt’s cockhead brushed over his prostate. _He_ wasn’t going to last much longer, either, not with Geralt talking to him like that.

“Geralt, I want to—I’m so close,” Jaskier gasped out.

“You can come when you’ve done it on my cock,” Geralt rasped. “If you touch yourself—”

Jaskier’s keen cut Geralt off, and his threat had been heard. Jaskier’s nails dug straight into Geralt’s skin to keep himself from giving in. He wanted a hand around his own cock—he’d come quickly, but this was _his_ punishment. He’d made Geralt wait, so Geralt was going to make him wait. Jaskier was going to work until his legs gave out and his core ached from the strain of it. He was going to bounce himself on Geralt’s cock until Geralt had painted his insides and left him heavy with it.

He was going to earn his orgasm, Jaskier was sure of it. He kept his grip tight and impaled himself down, over and over on Geralt’s cock until they were both gasping. Groaning. They moved together, rutting against each other each in their own, private desperation to _finish_. Everything was hot, sticky—there was sweat now that pasted Geralt’s hair to his face, and Jaskier was in no better a situation. He was losing his stamina, quickly. His bounces became shallow, but he tried to roll his hips. Little circles, hard presses. Anything.

“Geralt—” Jaskier gasped. “Geralt, please—come inside me. I—I want to feel it, I need—” he whimpered, losing himself as he bottomed out, once more. Geralt was deep inside of him, twitching with his own rush of pleasure. Jaskier’s words were getting to him.

Geralt tugged on the belt, his hands gripped tight on the headboard to keep himself from breaking free and finishing this. He wanted to play Jaskier’s game. He wanted to finish it—wanted to make him happy. He rutted up into Jaskier, enough strength to have Jaskier bouncing again. Each time Jaskier bottomed back out, his arse jiggled in the slap of their skin. Geralt could watch the stretch of his hole. Each inch of him that Jaskier took inside. Stretched around. Moaned for. Begged for.

“Geralt, please, please, please,” Jaskier cried. “Fuck me, fuck me—harder, Geralt, _please_ —” his hips bucked, and he desperately strained to not grab for his own cock.

It didn’t take much longer. Jaskier was desperately crying out, babbles and cries for Geralt to _fill him_ left on his lips. He squeezed around Geralt’s cock, bouncing and circling around him to do anything he could to get what he wanted. He was well rewarded when Geralt’s hips bucked up and he groaned, a sudden spread of warmth as Geralt’s orgasm washed over him. He came inside of Jaskier, just like he wanted, in hot spurts over his inner walls, until Jaskier was trembling with his own need. He sounded like he might _actually_ cry, he was so overwhelmed with the feeling of it.

“Geralt—” Jaskier whimpered. “Geralt, _please,_ I want to come—”

“Do it, then,” Geralt huffed. Exhaustion was clear in his voice. “Come on, you pretty little thing, let me hear you _sing_.”

Jaskier gasped, using the last of his strength to continue. He fucked himself down on Geralt’s cock once, twice, _listening_ to the sound of Geralt gasping and groaning through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Jaskier didn’t have to touch his own cock—he came a moment later, his cock twitching with his orgasm. The mess he’d made. Jaskier could feel the rush of heat spread through his face, but there wasn’t much else in the wake of his pleasure. His entire body trembled, thrummed with it.

At this moment, when Geralt broke free of the bonds, Jaskier didn’t mind. Geralt caught him just before he collapsed forward. He pulled Jaskier back into his chest, taking a moment just to stroke the hair out of his face and kiss the side of his head. He let Jaskier rest for a moment before he wrapped an arm around his waist and picked him up, pulling Jaskier off his cock and lying him down on the mattress. Jaskier was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, breathing hard, with his eyes half-lidded.

Geralt caressed down the side of Jaskier’s face, giving him just the briefest of smiles. “Welcome back,” he muttered.

Jaskier returned the smile to the best of his ability. “Did you…?”

Geralt grunted, nodding. “You look beat to shit. Get some rest; you’ve more than earned it.”

But first, Jaskier puckered his lips. One last stupid little thing—but Geralt gave him a fond smile. Geralt pressed a kiss against him. Just a short one. A sweet one. Then he patted Jaskier’s cheek and prompted him to rest. There were things to take care of, there always were, but Geralt would take care of it. He was never quite as exhausted as Jaskier was, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Froge Bounces 𓆏  
> [Check me out on Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)  
> 


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